Fly, Pupa, Fly
by Leafy Lincoln
Summary: Mutant blood breeds true.


It's because you were already glaring at him that you notice.

It started with him shifting his weight from foot to foot, an uncomfortable expresssion crossing his face. Then he starts to roll his shoulders, wincing as the muscles in his back stretch. Soon after that he is constantly fideting where he stands; your sharp eyes missing nothing, not a single twitch.

You consider snapping at him, to demand that he stop this instant before you _make_ him. That is, until he suddenly drops to his knees with a scream of pain.

You start, caugh off guard. And when your body betrays you and your indifference, rushing toward his crumpled form, you curse. You really shouldn't care that he's in pain- you've caused your fair share of it. He'd been through so much shit already, one more fiasco wouldn't do much harm. But nonetheless, you're still the one coming to his aid despite your unwillingness, along with all the other suckers that fell for the troll's pathetic kindness.

His shoulders hunch forward as he curls into himself, trying to find an unattainable relief. His entire body soon starts to spasm, pausing your hands for a mere moment as they reach for him.

"Don't touch him." A cool voice commands from behind you, accompanied by a strong arm that locks your wrist in an iron grip. You look back, snarl already set on your face before you realize who it is.

Rufioh, in all his red mohawk and bullfairy winged glory, looms over you- usually the heights of the other trolls didn't effect you, but his seemed to intimidate you. Maybe it was the way his face was set, his usual carefree smile replaced by a serious expression; his empty white eyes making it all the more grave. The other dancestor trolls look uncomfortable with this side of Rufioh, which doesn't help you feel any more at ease.

"Please don't touch him." He repeats again, albiet a little more politely. The usual stuttering was absent, setting things a little more off edge. Dark boots step over you, coming to a standstill in front of the convusling lump. He bends down and easily rips the shirt off Tavros, nails uncaring in the damage done to the fabric.

With the t-shirt gone, you can see the twitching of Tavros' skin, the area on his upper back, between his shoulder blades, more active than the rest. The usual dull coloring of his grey skin had gained a coat of glossy sweat. You feel your eyes drawn toward his unclothed torso, scanning every part of it, from the lower back to his shoulders and down his arms. Every movement he made led to the flexing of different muscles on his back and you can't help but notice this.

For some reason you feel yourself heat up, mainly in the cheeks, but also along your neck. You instantly realize what's happening and stamp the crap out of the feeling, fighting the heat until it packs up and leaves. No matter what happens you won't have any of these red emotions latch onto your heart, especially for the pathetic troll whimpering at your feet. To push all the feelings further, you tear your attention away from your so-called love interest and zero it on Rufioh.

Your mouth opens to voice your questions but a angry voice interrupts you. "What the fuck is going on?" Not as elegant as what you were going to say, but Karkat does get the message across.

"A change- a metamorphasis, I guess you can say, that certain trolls with our particular bloodline must go through as they reach a certain number of sweeps." He says, information flowing out of his mouth with ease, reminding you of Aranea. "But don't worry. It is only natural."

Even as he says that Tavros screams out, mouth set in a grimace as he continues to writhe; you succeed in ignoring the small twinge in your chest. You have this witty and sarcastic remark in response to his comment, but again the stupid loud-mouth beats you to the punch.

"This shit is farther than fucking natural than I've ever seen. You've got to have your head shoved so far up your ass to think that this kind of pain is a fucked up form of 'natural' for trolls." Karkat, as blunt as ever, voices what you were thinking. Glancing behind you, you see that that knubby-horned troll is one of the many people that is surrounding you. You hope to Gog that none of them noticed your moment of emotional vulnerability only a moment ago.

Rufioh wasn't fazed by the short troll's vulgur language and simply shrugged, never taking his eyes off of Tavros. It is because of this that the Dancestor doesn't notice the violent twitch subjicated by Karkat at his following words. "Mutant blood breeds true."

"What? Is it like puberty?" John, ever so innocent and naïve, piped up his question. You restrain yourself from face-palming, reminding yourself that John is just being John.

"Shitty pubery, if you ask me." The Knight of Time remarks, cool as ever. "Though, when is puberty not shitty?"

Tavros suddenly pulls himself to his knees once more, back arched, fisted hands shaking as they attempt to keep him from falling. His entire body is tense as you all hear something snap. Then brown is the only color you are able to see; a dark liquid oozing out of the cracks and cuts appearing on his skin.

You hear a thump from behind, which you can only assume is Karkat fainting; the only troll in history unable to handle the sight of blood, you scoff.

A low growl, deep from within Tavros' throat resonates through the chilling silence now enveloping you all. One of his clawed hands twists around to grab at his back, stained skin peeling where the merciless nails rake against it. Your eyes can't be guided away from the blood that stains the floor and his body and for a fleeting moment you almost go to him, wanting to stop him from harming himself any further. But, again, you beat that feeling to pulp.

You can see his sightless, blank eyes whirl around in their sockets with a certain painful craze. For a moment it seems like he's staring straight at you, begging you to kill him and stop the pain; you remember the time it was you in his spot, begging him to kill you. You harden youself, a quiet hiss slithering out of your mouth despite your hardened control. Just keep on killing that feeling, you remind yourself, until it withers away and dies.

"This is gross." One of the humans murmur and you have a vague suspicion that it's eyes trail over to look at him but stop when you see Rufioh standing a few paces from you, arms folded hard against his chest and feet set shoulder length apart. He's watching closely, eyes never blinking, as Tavros continues to rip at his back, tearing more skin and tissue as the seconds tick by; almost as if he's waiting for something to happen- something to appear. Tavros tilts forward even further, forehead resting against the hard ground, now using both his hands to claw away the insufferable pain in his back with so much passion it surprises you.

That's when it clicks.

You suck in a breath with the rest of the group, fangs grazing your lower lip, when you finally see it. The twitching, thin layer of skin detaching itself from Tavros' muscles. With a final, agonizing scream of pain the layer of skin fully errupts out of Nitram's back and reveals itself to be a pair of large, glossy, blood covered wings.

They go limp as Tavros pants, barely able to lift his head, muscles relaxing slightly now that the ordeal is over; the troll slumps forward, looking like he might topple over any second. Occasionally the new extensions twitch of their own accord, flicking brown blood in your direction. You don't mind though since you are currently entranced with the sight of those wings right alongside everyone else, unable to tear your gaze away.

You watch, intrigued as Rufioh steps forward and grabs the wings, wiping them clean of blood and a clear layer of slime, uncaring of the mess; his hands are gentle but confident in what they're doing. No one dares to interrupt him.

The wings in general are transparent and thin. Now that most of the gore is off, you can see that their color is close to that of Tavros' blood, if only a shade lighter. As Rufioh carefully rubs the wings, uncrinkling them and setting them straight, the small, almost invisible membrannes are seen. When the wings catch the light, you see the membranes, their highlighted pathways diffusing along the wings.

"Come on now, get up." The stern voice comes from Rufioh as he gently prods the young troll, flicking his horns. He makes no effort to help Tavros as he struggles to his feet, but stands close enough that should he fall a strong arm would save him. Finally Tavros gains his balance, which is difficult with the new extension on his back, wincing as his muscles groan in protest. His eyes are crinkled with exhaustion, and there are some resedue left from his blood along his cheeks that undoubtedly erupted from his tear ducts, but he smiles nonetheless.

The others come closer, curious about the mutation. The Nitrams both smile, abashed, shying away from the questions and prodding stares; back to their usual selves you notice.

You stand there, off to the side, waiting, looking indifferent; you rather not dirty yourself with pushing and shoving. Soon enough Tavros comes lumbering over, wings swaying ever so slightly with his gait. The others see where he is headed and doesn't try to stop him, instead pestering Rufioh with more vigor. He stops to stand next to you, hunching over to appear smaller despite his large size, keeping the silence that you've set up. It's almost comfortable.

It's a weird relationship the two of you have, you must admit. John would label you as friends at times, or at least frenemies- whatever that is. You can't help but interact with him, whether it be with red or black intentions, no matter how pathetic he is. Even when you welcome the black more so than the red feelings, you always seem to have _something_.

That's why when you reach up and wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, yanking him down to your level, you smirk. He looks at you, smiling timidly at your closeness. Those new wings of his flutter momentarily, brushing against you with a feathers touch. Your smile gets wider and crazier, all your teeth on display. You bring his face closer to yours, to the point where your horns connect with his; with your other arm you reach for one of his wings, tugging at it gently- it feels smooth to the touch, but delicate nonetheless. His eyes glance at the wing momentarily before settling back on you, his own smile growing less timid and more warm.

"Fly, Pupa, fly."


End file.
